


What Once Was and What Could Have Been

by icestorm



Series: What Once Was [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drama, Eventual Fluff, Flashbacks, Ghost Marco Bott, Happy Ending, Hospitals, M/M, POV Marco Bott, Poet Marco, Suicide Attempt, Supernatural Elements, it gets happier i promise, painter Jean, sad feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1702244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icestorm/pseuds/icestorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then it hit him like a punch to the gut.<br/><em>Oh.</em><br/><em>That’s right.</em><br/><em>I’m dead.</em></p><p> </p><p>Jeanmarco AU fic in which Marco is a "ghost" watching over Jean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The State of Being Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye, my almost lover  
> Goodbye, my hopeless dream  
> I'm trying not to think about you  
> Can't you just let me be?  
> So long, my luckless romance  
> My back is turned on you  
> I should've known you'd bring me heartache  
> Almost lovers always do
> 
> The Fine Frenzy, Almost Lovers 

When Marco died it hadn’t at all been what he’d expected. He had expected to feel pain, maybe see his life flash before his eyes, or experience some strange phenomenon. Instead, he was faced with an odd feeling of serenity. He felt like he was suspended in mid air, and could almost feel the clouds curling around him comfortingly as his eyes lazily closed. And he slept like that. He slept for a long while.

When Marco awoke he found himself standing in his kitchen, his mother humming away as she diligently sliced up a round tomato. His father was attempting to boil pasta, yelping as the hot steam nipped his hand when he dumped the noodles in, eliciting a chuckle from his mother. Marco’s younger sister padded in the room with a yawn, clutching her favorite ragged stuffed bear. It all seemed so normal, yet something was off. The atmosphere was almost…too perfect, rendering it delicate.

“What are you cooking?” Marco asked, making his way over to the counter where his mom had finished dicing the tomatoes and had since moved on to washing her hands. She turned the water off and dried her hands brusquely, not answering. “Mom~.” Marco drawled teasingly. Again, she seemed to blatantly ignore him. “Mom.” Marco repeated. “ _Mom!_ ” He reached out to touch her, but she felt delicate, not quite real, and Marco received no response or acknowledgement in the slightest. Panicking, he approached his father and called out to him, yet to no avail. It was as if he didn’t exist.

And then it hit him like a punch to the gut.

_Oh._

_That’s right._

_I’m dead._

It was not at all how Marco had assumed he was going to die. He’d personally hoped to simply die in his sleep as an old man, after he’d led a more or less successful life. One could say the manner of his death was something of a curveball, the details of it even eluding Marco himself. All he remembered was Jean getting angry over something and next thing he knew Marco had been lying in a pool of his own blood, gasping in short breaths as he clutched Jean’s shirt and stared desperately into his panicked eyes before Marco fell back into nothingness and slept.

Utterly lost and puzzled, Marco wandered aimlessly around his house before leaving. The moment he tripped walking to the front door was the moment Marco discovered that he could walk (or, more appropriately for this situation, fall) through walls. He had had to do a double take and ponder what had just transpired for more than a few moments. Had he really just tripped _through_ his front door? Marco decided to test this theory and took a couple of steps back before sprinting forward and racing _straight through_ a wall of his house. He occupied himself this way for a while, weaving in and out of buildings around the neighborhood before feeling bad for essentially trespassing on people’s property. He had even tried talking to several people he saw on the street, but as with his family they seemed to be unaware of his existence.

_What exactly happened to me? Why am I here? I know I died…but…just what am I? A ghost?_

Marco gazed sullenly through a window of the fast-food restaurant Jean and he had used to frequent. His eyes fell on the digital clock that read 12:07. _I’d be in school at this time._

Curious to see how his friends were doing, Marco headed for the school. He jumped on city bus, only feeling slightly ashamed for hitching a free ride. He arrived at the school shortly and took in a deep breath before entering the grounds. He made his way into the courtyard where he observed that their lunch period was still ongoing. Immediately, his eyes found the bench under the large oak tree where Jean and Marco tended to eat together. A lone figure was sprawled out on the bench and as Marco approached he took note of light brown eyes and pale brown hair.

“Jean.” Marco murmured, staring down at the young man who gazed listlessly upward, straight through Marco, at nothing in particular. His usually bright eyes were dull and vacant which worried Marco greatly. He reached down tentatively to brush Jean’s cheek with his hand before retracting it quickly and blushing. He found himself strangely disappointed that Jean hadn’t reacted in any way. Not that Marco had expected him to. He was practically non-existent. In fact, Marco realized, flushing a deeper crimson, he could do anything to Jean and the boy wouldn’t notice. 

Marco started as someone walked through him and leaned down to peer at Jean. Marco backed up a few paces, taking in the sight of Eren Jaeger. Mikasa and Armin stood a few feet back too, watching cautiously.

“Listen Jean, it was hard on all of us, you know. But you’ve got to quit moping around like this! Just look at yourself, pathetic!” Eren sounded as if he was trying to give Jean a pep talk. The latter boy only continued to stare up at the sky, unfazed. Eren straightened up with a sigh and lowered his head a bit. “Marco would want you to move on.” He added quietly. “He would want you to appreciate the friends you have here and now and not dwell on the past.” After a few moments of prolonged silence, Eren clenched his fists in frustration. “Dammit, Jean! This is the part where you’re supposed to yell at me and tell me how wrong I am! Why are you being like this? You aren’t the only one who misses Marco.” With that, Eren stormed off in a fury, with Mikasa trailing fast behind him. Armin, however, lingered.

“J—Jean. Eren—he didn’t really mean it like that. All he meant was that…we’re your friends too…and we’re here for you.” Armin spoke in a hushed voice.

“I know…thanks.” Jean spoke up for the first time, surprising Marco. “It’s just…I’m not really in the mood for talking right now.”

Armin nodded. “I understand. Don’t give up just yet.” Armin gave a small nod before retreating to follow his friends.

Marco crouched next to the bench and stared wistfully at Jean’s face, grasping the boy’s hand and only wishing he could be of more comfort. “I’m sorry. This is my fault.” Marco’s voice shook as he stroked Jean’s hand with his thumb.

 _I wish I could speak to you again, one last time. I’d tell you all the things I left unspoken. I’d tell you how I love your smirking smile, your arrogant laugh, or your soft brown eyes. I’d speak endlessly of how adorable you look when you’re embarrassed, how gentle you can be, and how silly you look trying to act cool. I would recount to you all the times you left me falling even more in love with you. I’d tell you about the time I almost confessed to you on the beach last summer but decided not to because I didn’t want to ruin our relationship. I’d tell you_ so much. _It hurts how many things I_ didn't _tell you. Yet now, now that chance is lost; I can tell you all I want, but you will never hear. I can touch you, but you won’t feel me. I can simply be, yet you won’t acknowledge my existence, for I am nothing._

“Marco.” The name was uttered in such a hushed voice on Jean’s lips that Marco wondered if he’d heard correctly.

“I’m here. I’m here, Jean.” Marco’s voice broke and tightened his grip on Jean’s hand, only to end up going straight through him. He was beginning to understand his current situation a bit better. Whenever he applied a greater force he could meld through things. Light touches were the limit before he simply faded through a body or object.

_This is a curse. You are so close, close enough for me to touch you. Yet you are so very far away. Still, I cannot reach you. But then again, it’s always been this way, hasn't it?_

The school bell jerked Marco from his thoughts. Jean sat rigidly upright before standing to his feet and slowly making his way into the school building. For the rest of the day, Marco tailed Jean throughout his classes, hovering behind him and watching him take notes. It was during this time that Marco discovered the little things he could do. Sasha’s pencil had been placed at the edge of her desk and Marco, unaware, had brushed against it with his hand when he leaned back against her desk and the pencil rolled off onto the floor. When he attempted to pick it up, however, he went directly through it. Sasha’s hand glided clean through his own to retrieve her pencil and placed it back where it had previously been. Feeling mischievous, Marco repeated his action and lightly prodded the pencil and watched, almost with glee, as it clattered on the floor once more. Sasha frowned now, considerably perplexed. When she grasped her pencil this time she did not set it down. Curious, Marco decided to test the limits of his interference with the physical work on poor Sasha.He poked her shoulder, no reaction. Tried pushing her books, but they were too heavy and Marco’s hand slid through them when he applied too much pressure. He stared her head on, inches away from her face, but she gazed right on through him as if he weren't there. Marco breathed in and let out an exasperated sigh. Sasha blinked and recoiled a bit, glancing around.

_Wait a minute…_

Marco moved around to Sasha’s right side and lightly puffed in her direction. She glanced in Marco’s direction with a shiver.

“What’s up with you?” Connie, who was seated next to her, prompted as Sasha raked the room with a scrutinizing gaze. 

“I keep feeling this cold breeze. But none of the windows are open as far as I can tell. I think I’m getting the chills or something.” Sasha half-murmured.

For the remainder of the day, Marco pondered on possible ways to contact Jean. He couldn’t pick up a pencil, at least not yet, so writing was out. Then again, Marco wasn’t quite sure that he _wanted_ to contact Jean in the first place. It would only confuse Jean and perhaps upset him even more.

_I am dead, and it should stay that way. I’ve done enough damage already; I don’t want to renew Jean’s pain anymore. So I won’t try to contact him. Even if he is unaware of my presence, I want to be there for him, always._

Jean drove home in silence that day, not even bothering to turn on his music. Marco sat in the passenger side seat, staring out the window. Marco heard the engine whine as he was pushed violently back when Jean suddenly floored the gas pedal. Marco jerked around to glance at Jean whose face was impenetrable as ever. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Marco demanded. The car began to drift lazily toward the left lane where an eighteen-wheeler was barreling down the opposite direction. “Jean, you’re drifting, not to mention speeding, pay attention…” Marco warned his friend urgently, forgetting for a moment that Jean could not hear him. That was when Marco sensed that something was more than a little off. Time seemed to slow and suddenly Marco could percieve every detail of the next moments with a strange clarity. There was a burning smell from the friction the car had experienced at the unexpected jump in speed. Marco became hyperaware of Jean’s fingers thrumming steadily against the center console, the way his other hand gripped the wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. Jean’s mouth parted and he seemed to draw in a large breath. Then the car jolted as Jean turned the steering wheel sharply, leading the car to enter the left lane, confronted by the oncoming truck.

In a heartbeat it all became clear as a summer’s day. It was something that had never crossed Marco’s mind, something he’d never expected. Then again, plenty of unexpected things had been occurring as of late. Yet Jean was just so… _Jean_. He was tough, resilient, and above all _stubborn_. Jean was too determined, too driven, too stubborn to give up like that. But as surely as the sun shone in the sky, Jean was going through with the unthinkable. Reacting with shocking speed, Marco shot forward, his heart hammering in his chest, and harshly veered the wheel to the right with such ferocity that the car went completely off the road just as the truck’s horn blared. Jean managed to slam on the brakes, throwing the pair forcefully forward, barely halting the vehicle before it collided with a telephone pole.

Marco sat shaking and panting with a single thought dominating his mind: _Jean just tried to end his life_. Jean groaned. For the first time Jean felt like a stranger to him, and Marco was frightened at his own powerlessness to help the person he cared for most.

“Fuck.” Jean murmured, his face in his hands, elbows on his thighs, leaning forward wearily. He stayed in that position and Marco froze when he heard a broken sob. _Jean was crying._ Marco felt as if his heart was being wrenched from his chest as he reached out to set a hand on Jean’s shaking shoulder. 

“This is…my fault again isn’t it?” Marco whispered. “I’m sorry I left you. I don’t know how I let this happen. I had so much to tell you, to do with you.” He paused for a while, silently dying with each of Jean’s pained sobs. “…It’s kind of nice.” Marco continued with a raw voice, on the verge of tears himself. “I can finally confess all that I feel freely, without worrying endlessly about you rejecting me. But, you know, I’d give _anything_ if you could hear me and speak to me again. I wouldn’t even care if you rejected me, hated me, avoided me. It wouldn’t matter, cause it’d be better than being stuck in this—this state of nonexistence I’m drowning in. And I want to be true to myself for once. I want to tell you what’s been lingering on my tongue, left unspoken for years. I want to tell you of the secret I’ve been bearing since the day we met. 

“ _I want to tell you that I love you, Jean Kirschtein._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is my first ever fic, so I apologize if it's sub-par...I'd appreciate feedback and suggestions! :) Thank you for reading!  
> TBC


	2. Those Nights under the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >   
>  There is no greater pain than to recall happiness in times of misery.  
> 
> 
> Dante Alighieri, The Inferno 
> 
> Note: I used italics to indicate either a flashback or the character's thoughts

The cool night air embraced Marco wholeheartedly as he stepped onto the second story balcony of his home. It didn’t feel like much of a home anymore, however. Marco sensed that he did not belong and felt like an intruder. His family had apparently, to Marco’s immense relief, seemed to more or less have accepted Marco’s passing. Yet it remained a fragile topic; Marco noted that he had never once heard them refer to him in conversation. He was appreciative that his family had moved on, but it still wounded Marco and he couldn’t help but feel forgotten: now he was simply an echo of the past. 

He leaned against the railing and tilted his head back slightly to survey a sky painted with softly glowing stars. Marco found a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth as a fond memory surfaced in his mind. There was a time when Jean and Marco had shared a weekly star-gazing night every Friday after school. The pair would lie in Jean’s massive backyard amongst the prickly grass and simply admire the mesmerizing sight. Occasionally they would exchange a few words, remarking on certain shapes they saw in the stars, complaining about their day; whatever came to mind was left to float in the open air. Those Friday nights were precious to Marco, treasured memories. He’d secretly been devastated when Jean called their star-gazing nights off once they had started high school. 

_I’m just too busy with school these days,_ Jean had said. Marco had only nodded in pretend agreement at the time. 

Thinking back on it Marco realized that was when it had all begun. The rift that had formed in Jean and Marco’s relationship. Jean had seemed to be trying to put some distance between them; Marco figured that either Jean just wanted to branch out, which Marco had no problem with, or that his friend had discovered Marco’s true feelings for him. Jean and Marco had still hung out, if not as often as they once did, and still remained best friends, but the alteration was tangible to Marco. Their slight alienation from each other had increased over the years, worsening like a festering wound left untended. Finally, their relationship had proved to be too tenuous and that’s where Marco’s memory became fuzzy and jumbled. He knew Jean had been angry about something—maybe angry at Marco? He knew Jean had confronted him over something. He knew that soon after that he had died. What he didn’t know unsettled Marco, and he was determined to find out exactly what had happened before his death and precisely how he had died. 

The doorbell chime tore Marco from his thoughts. Swiftly, Marco turned and permeated cleanly through the balcony door. He lightly jogged down the spiraling staircase and came to a halt at the door as his sister, Annaliese, answered it. 

Reiner stood clutching a bouquet of vibrant flowers with Berholdt edging nervously behind him. They looked surprised for a moment before Reiner spoke up. 

“You’re Marco’s little sister, right? Uh, are your parents home?” Reiner asked, shifting his weight awkwardly. Marco’s sister narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips before silently approving of the two strangers. 

“Yeah. Hold on.” Annaliese turned around and padded away into the recesses of the home, leaving the door hanging wide open. 

“Are you sure this was a good idea?” Bertholdt demanded, wringing his hands. “I mean we’ve only met his parent’s like once. Will they even know who we are? What if we just upset them?”

“I’m just trying to be respectful. Marco is our friend and it’s our duty to check up on his family while he can’t. Besides, it’s been one month today since the accident; what we’re doing can only make it better, not worse.” Reiner said gruffly, though he looked unsure of himself. He patted Bertholdt’s shoulder reassuringly, and a few moments later Marco’s mother appeared at the door. 

“Why, it’s Reiner and Bertholdt!” His mother smiled gently. “What brings you boys here?” 

“Good evening, Mrs. Bodt!” Reiner greeted stiffly, holding out the flowers. “We just stopped by to say we’re sorry about what happened with Marco and all…and uh, don’t give up hope, I’m sure that Marco will—,” 

The world went mute. Marco blinked, his eyes darted around at the others in shock. They, however, seemed unaffected and Marco watched as his mother took the flowers gratefully and observed her lips moving as if she was speaking. Bertholdt opened his mouth this time and spoke words that were silent on Marco’s ears. The boys waved and Marco read the word “goodbye” on Reiner’s lips before the two turned and walked back down the patio. The door shut soundlessly. 

And suddenly the noise of the world came rushing back, startling Marco more than his sudden and brief deafness. His mother thoughtfully prodded at the flowers as she passed through him. Shaking his head, puzzled, Marco ascended the stairs and entered his room, reclining on the bed. Everything was just so bewildering. He had long given up on comprehending his current situation so Marco soon decided to surrender deciphering this latest odd occurrence; instead, he let his thoughts stray lazily. 

_I wonder why my room hasn’t been cleared out yet…? I wish I could have seen what my funeral was like. Was Jean there? Where was I buried?_

There were so many questions left unanswered as Marco mulled over his death. He sure didn’t _feel_ dead. What he did feel was alive; so very _alive_. He could feel everything he did as a human, save for hunger or tiredness. 

Abruptly, the door to Marco’s room swung open with a moaning creak. He sat up, surprised to see Annaliese shuffling in, clutching her stuffed bear as usual, her eyes glazed over with sleepiness. She clasped her hands together and sat next to Marco’s bed, laying her folded hands on it. Her eyes closed as she began to speak. 

“I wish that Marco would come home soon. I wish that he’d feel better quickly and come play with me. I—I miss my brother.” Her uneasy voice broke off into a whimper, and she buried her face in the sheets. Marco reached forward to pat her head gently. 

“I’m sorry, Anna, but big brother’s not coming back.” Marco murmured softly. “I can’t get better because I’m…I’m…dead.” 

That night Marco was more strongly aware of his solitude than ever. He was unable to comfort his best friend, unable to comfort his family. So just why was here now? He was helpless to do anything in this metaphysical state. There was no point to it. Watching those he loved suffer only worsened Marco’s own pain. Incapable of sleeping, lonely nights such as these tormented Marco’s mind as he was left alone to wallow in pity for himself and his loved ones. And the nights only seemed to grow longer, the tendrils of darkness clinging to the walls until the last possible moment when the light of the sunrise killed them off. 

Morning came like a shining beacon amongst a tempestuous sea. Marco had already decided what to do with this Saturday and eagerly exited his house. The early morning air was divinely awakening and held a sort of fresh crispness to it. With renewed optimism, Marco slipped on a bus and hopped off after a fifteen minute ride that stopped near Jean’s neighborhood. Marco walked for the remainder of the trip, hesitating before continuing through the front door to the Kirschtein’s home. The house appeared empty as it always was, but Marco knew where he’d find Jean. Quivering with anticipation, he strode up the stairs and made his way down the hall. He halted at the familiar doorway. For a few seconds, Marco held his hand against the door and finally pushed through it with ease.

Jean’s back was to Marco. He was there, in the flesh. Alive. Marco couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief, releasing the all anxiety that had collected within him after yesterday’s incident in the car. He had been overwrought with a sense that Jean would be inclined to end what he had begun.

Jean sat at his desk, a paint brush in hand, no doubt working on a painting, headphones on, emitting a faint tune of his music. The sunlight spilled into his room, illuminating Jean’s figure in just the right way, creating a picture of serenity. Marco settled himself in the spot just below the window and leisurely observed that serious expression of Jean’s that he put on whenever he drew or painted. Marco remembered teasing his friend about it when he’d first noticed it. 

_“You look absolutely furious.” Marco chuckled. Jean looked up, his face now so innocently confused it only evoked more giggling on Marco’s part. “When you draw, your face just contorts into this silly looking glare. I wouldn’t be surprised if you burned holes through the paper with that look.”_

_“Sh—Shut up!” Jean blushed furiously. “I can’t help it…Just don’t look at me when I draw…its embarrassing!” He paused, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. “Besides, you should see your own face when you’re wrapped up in writing that poetry of yours!”_

_It was Marco’s turn for his face to burn in shame. “W—What! I do not make faces when I write…Do I?” His eyes widened. “Oh my God. Do I look like a total dork? I’m never writing in front of anyone again!” As Marco’s panic ensued, Jean’s amusement grew and he choked back a laugh with an unpleasant snort. “…You’re just messing with me again, aren’t you? I knew it!”_

_Jean tilted his head thoughtfully. “Maybe. Maybe not.”_

_“Jerk.” Marco frowned, thoroughly conflicted. He pursed his lips, entrenched in thought._

_“Hey, Marco.” Jean spoke, his voice quieter than usual. He thrummed his hands against his desk, something that he did whenever he was anxious._

_“Yeah?” Marco’s warm brown eyes flicked up to glance at Jean who was pointedly avoiding eye contact, instead preferring to stare at his sketch._

_“A trade!” Jean blurted out. “I’ll paint something for you, and in return you write a poem for me.” The words flowed out of his mouth so swiftly that Marco wondered if he’d heard correctly. A grin played on his lips as he cheerfully responded._

_“Great idea! Then you have to promise not to laugh at what I write or anything.” Marco had always been shy about letting others read his poems. Poetry had a way of exposing a person’s truest self: it stripped you bare, peeling back the deceptive exterior of your life and leaving you frighteningly vulnerable, revealing your innermost being. But Jean was the one person Marco trusted with heart and soul._

_“You know I wouldn’t do that. And I know you wouldn’t do that to me.” Jean muttered as he turned his attention back to his art piece. “I’d never intentionally do anything to hurt you, Marco.” He added, almost as an afterthought. Jean paused once more. He then opened his mouth as if to speak and shut it. He opened it once more, a renewed determination on his face. “You mean more to me than my own family. Though it’s not like they've been much of a family in the first place…”_

_“Are you telling me that I’m the most important person in your life?”_

_“Uh…yeah, I guess?” Jean shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant, but Marco did not miss the fact that he was flustered. Marco couldn’t hold back a smug smile._

_“Well I don’t mean to turn this into a cliché sentimental scene, but I feel the same way. You’re not just my best friend; you’re kind of my world.” Marco wondered if he’d given away his feelings with that last line, but Jean had only adopted a satisfied smile._

That had been at the beginning of their freshman year, just before Jean called off the star-gazing “dates” as Marco secretly liked to think of them. They were seniors now and still they had not gone through with their pledge to exchange Jean’s art and Marco’s poem. It was a promise left awkwardly avoided for unspoken reasons. 

Marco heaved himself to his feet and paced to lean over Jean’s shoulder and take a look at what he was working on. When he saw the subject matter Marco’s heart skipped a beat. 

Two young boys, undoubtedly Jean and Marco, were depicted stretched out on their backs on a gently sloping hill amongst an expanse of lush grass. The pair gazed solemnly upward into the endless starry sky. Jean was currently applying a splash of freckles meticulously onto Marco’s face in the painting. 

_I’ll paint something for you._ Jean had said. Marco swelled with delight, unable to take his eyes off the ethereal and nostalgic piece of art. 

_Perhaps those star-gazing days were just as significant to Jean as they were to me after all. Thank you, Jean. Now I suppose it’s my turn to write you that poem._

Jean sat back in his chair and let out a lengthy sigh, staring at the ceiling. Marco noticed a picture on the shelf above Jean’s desk. It was a snapshot of the two standing side by side and grinning from ear to ear, Jean’s arm thrown around Marco’s shoulder casually. 

A sudden idea formed in Marco’s mind and he leaned forward, gently blowing a light breath of air on the photo, causing it to incline forward and slowly flutter off the shelf, catching Jean’s attention as it landed gingerly on his desk. He picked up the photograph and smiled faintly. 

“Come back to me, Marco.” Jean breathed out. “You still owe me a poem. I, in turn, owe you this painting, an apology, and so much more.” He wavered for a time. “Without you, I truly am nothing…I did something incredibly stupid yesterday. I tried to—tried to—,” His voice failed him and he covered his mouth and thrummed his fingers against the desk. Marco set his hands on Jean’s shoulders.

“I’m with you, Jean.” Marco spoke hoarsely, knowing his words were felled on deaf ears, but he was compelled to speak them nonetheless. Jean’s next words sent shivers down Marco’s spine and froze him to the core.

“It’s been a month already. Just when will you wake up? Or are you really going to leave me forever?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger! Thanks for reading!  
> TBC


	3. Ghost of the Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >   
>  Remember tonight, for it is the beginning of always  
> 
> 
> Dante Alighieri, The Inferno 

_What?_ Marco forgot how to breathe. _Wake up…? But I’m dead…Aren't I?_

Swiftly, the pieces began to fall into place in Marco’s mind. He recalled Reiner’s words that had been cut off from earlier: _don’t give up hope; I’m sure that Marco will—_. 

_That I’ll what? Be fine?_

He recollected how Annaliese had pleaded for Marco to return home soon, how his family had seemed so optimistic, acting conventionally as ever to mask their distress. Had Marco actually died, he suspected that his family would be more than a bit perturbed. And then there was Armin’s advice to Jean: _don’t give up just yet_. 

All this talk of hope, of not giving up. Marco had assumed they were just empty words of consolidation, but now the possibility of them bearing much more meaning struck him. 

_Am I…? Is it possible? Dare I hope that…I could be alive?_ The prospect left Marco dizzy with elation. _Jean had requested for me to “wake up” so does that mean I’m unconscious, in a coma perhaps? Just what happened to me?_

With this new development Marco found himself with more questions than ever, agitating him to no end. Yet Jean’s presence proved to be therapeutic, and Marco quieted his mind from the overwhelming anxiety he felt for a soothing silence that he had not experienced in a long time. 

Just him and Jean. Just how it should be. Marco reclined on Jean’s bed, lying on his side facing his friend as he diligently painted. 

“If I came back, I’d make everything right between us. It’d be like old times. I’d invite you to sit with me beneath the stars where we’d talk about everything under the sky and nothing at all. After some time I’d finally broach _that_ topic. I would begin in no rush by listing the things I like about you—that could take awhile, I suppose—considering I like _everything_ about you. But you’re patient when it is called for, so you’d just sit there and listen, wondering what I’m getting at and if I’ve gone crazy. Then I’d say it. Those three words. And you’d realize what you knew all along. At my confession, you’d blush and stammer as you attempt to speak. You always try so desperately to mask it, but I see clearly how easily you get flustered. As you stumble over your own thoughts I’d lean forward to deliver a light, lingering kiss on your lips. Just as I move away you’d respond ever so slightly, returning the kiss for a fraction of a second. Then we’d just stare back up at the stars, this time our hands locked together and smiles upon our faces.” The idyllic, idealized scene made Marco chuckle at his own wistful naivety. 

_If only everything worked out so flawlessly and simply. If only I could so easily write out the story of my life._

It was mid afternoon when Marco decided to stretch his legs and seek out some fresh air. He cast one last lingering glance at Jean who was fixated on his painting before leaving the Kirschtein’s home and opting to wander through the neighborhood.

Wind buffeted him, carrying a rush of floral scents that engulfed Marco. He bathed in the caressing warmth of the sun, an undeniable solace overtaking his mind. His utopia was short-lived, however, and moments later Marco’s focus shifted to a pair of lovers ahead on the sidewalk. As he neared them, their quarrel became evident. 

“You still haven’t given me an explanation as to why this is the first time you’ve spoken to me in a week.” The young man’s arms were crossed, and his eyebrows were curved upward in a worried expression. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

“No. Now, I’m asking you to leave me alone.” The woman put her hands on her hips and glared daggers at the ground. Marco’s head began to throb. This conversation seemed so familiar.

“You’ve got to talk to me! Avoiding me like this—I won’t know what to think. Please tell me what’s on your mind. Even if it’s something I don’t want to hear I don’t care, I just need to _know_. I need to know why you’ve ignored my existence for the past week.” The man pleaded, reaching out to grasp the woman’s hand. She pulled her hand away with a jolt. Marco’s heart twisted as if he were the one facing rejection and the pain in his head heightened, causing him to wince visibly. He passed them by, resisting the urge to glance back. 

“Enough!” Her voice rose and her tone turned to one of fury. “I’m just not sure our relationship is worth keeping up. There’s a distance between us now that cannot be closed.” 

Marco’s mind went blank. Then, like a tsunami, waves of new memories crashed on the shore of his mind. 

_Today was the day. Marco had been telling himself those very words for three months now, but today was_ really, truly _it. Senior year had only just started, but Marco was well aware of how quickly it would end. He would confront Jean finally, before it was too late, before he lost him forever._

 _Freshman year of course was when the estrangement had gone underway, yet at that time it had been tolerable. Marco was certainly capable of giving his closest friend room to breathe, room to branch out. And branch out he did; in fact, they_ both _did. They found themselves a part of a large, yet tightly knit group of friends. There was Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie, Ymir, and Krista to name a few._

_Was this enough? Was this what Jean wanted? Marco had found himself wondering. Sophomore year was when Marco began to recognize that Jean seemed to have no intentions of closing the gap that had grown between the two, of salvaging their once impenetrable relationship. It was reduced to a polite, formal relation. They would hang out as usual, but their conversations were skin-deep. There were times when Marco saw hope for them to regain what they lost, but as soon as things began moving in that direction, Jean would back out once more. It was a tortuous, unending cycle. ___

_Junior year had both Jean and Marco entrenched in school work. Sometimes they’d sit together in the library as each did his respective homework. Marco would nonchalantly glance up at Jean every chance he got. Why had Jean done this? Not for branching out, that was off the list now, for they’d made plenty of friends. But did the reason really matter? Clearly Jean did not want to be around Marco excessively. And Marco figured that he, as a good friend, should respect his wishes._

_He had stared for too long. Jean glanced up, slightly taken aback upon meeting Marco’s intent gaze. Marco’s decision solidified in his mind as he stood up rigidly, gathering his books up and leaving hurriedly. Never again had Marco entered the library._

_So senior year had arrived. And here Marco was, his determination renewed. He would not leave Jean alone like last year. He would not give up. Not without an explanation at least. He’d give his last efforts to, at best, restore their former relationship or, at worst, understand why that could not happen._

_As the lunch period began on the first day of school, Marco invited Jean to eat with him under the oak tree they had claimed freshman year. Jean had smiled enthusiastically and agreed without hesitation. It was already going better than Marco had expected. They hadn’t gotten together much that summer so they used most of the lunch period to catch up on each other’s lives. Jean seemed willing to talk freely and openly, providing Marco with increased optimism._

_“Want to hang out this weekend?” Marco popped the question with a grin just as the bell rang. Jean flinched and Marco puzzled over what he’d done wrong._

_“I kinda...had other plans.” Jean said carefully, after a pause._

You have plans…the whole weekend? Is he trying to avoid me again?

_“Please, Jean. I have something important I need to talk about with you.” The cheerfulness was absent from Marco’s voice. He didn’t bother to put on his usual façade of perpetual and ceaseless happiness._

_“Alright.” Jean sighed, closing his eyes. “Time and place?”_

_“Friday, the park. Does nine p.m. work for you?” Marco said, his patience unusually thin. Jean nodded slowly._

_“Marco, are you okay?” Jean tilted his head slightly, his eyebrows knitting together in concern._

No. Do I look okay? Do I sound okay? Have I been okay for the past three years?

_“I’m fine. Just a bit tired, not quite ready for summer to be over, you know?” Marco forced a light smile on his face._

_“If you say so…I—I also have something to tell you.” Jean stared at his shoes, his tone grave._

Oh no. _Marco’s stomach twisted and a sudden weight loomed over him._ This can’t be good. He’s going to tell me that he doesn’t like me, that he doesn’t want to hang out anymore, that I need to leave him alone, that—. No, no. Calm down. Assumptions will get me nowhere. Just breathe. Relax. At least _appear_ calm. I’ve always been good at pretending to be okay anyway. 

_“Alright then. We’d better get to class. See you around.” Marco waved before he retreated back towards the school._. 

What in the world was that? Marco had only regained his breath and stood back on unsteady feet before he felt as if he’d been struck head on by a bullet train, and he was stumbling back into a world of unfamiliarity once more. 

_Marco was sitting on a swing set in the park. It was cold. It was dark. And it was nine thirty. He willed himself to suppress the hurt and betrayal he felt. Instead he opted to stay positive. That was what he told himself over and over in his mind._

Be positive, be positive, be positive. Jean’s probably gotten caught up in traffic. Maybe he had to do a few chores before he left. Maybe he got into another fight with his parents—

He would have called you or texted you. He would have let you know if he was running late. _A small voice in the back of his head entertained his insecurities._

Be positive, be positive. Be. Positive. _If Marco didn’t coerce himself into this mindset he knew he’d go insane. It was a sort of coping mechanism he’d found quite handy in calming his nerves. This time, however, it failed him, and Marco only grew more restless by the moment._

_Thirty more minutes passed in between shivers and rough coughs; the night only thickened. Marco was contemplating finally calling up Jean as he rubbed his arms in an attempt to warm himself. He had long felt an uncomfortable sense of aloneness: the park was eerily empty (no surprise considering the time of night), the light nearest the swing set was flickering ominously, and the darkness seemed to hang in the air like an unwelcome fog._

Why did I choose this of all places? And this time? _Marco had always found the dark unsettling , and the park held little significance to him. Though to be fair, Marco had expected some vague punctuality from Jean and had planned for the park to be only a brief rendezvous point before the pair decided what to do. Marco had hoped that they could hang out and have fun for a while before he confronted Jean._

_Consumed in thought, Marco didn’t register the vehicle that pulled up in a rush, nor the young man who leapt out and walked quickly towards Marco._

_“Hey! Marco!” Jean called out, his voice a bit uneven. Normally, Marco would have smiled patiently and waited for Jean to explain himself. But the frustration that had accumulated inside him was the catalyst for his sudden urge to lift away that weight that buried him, that drowned him, that burned him to ash. He needed to face Jean_ now _.“Sorry for being late, I—,” Jean began to speak, lowering himself into the swing next to Marco._

_“Why have you been avoiding me?” Marco interrupted, his voice monotone._

_“What do you mean? I’m here right now…” Jean trailed off for a moment. “If this is about me being late, I’m sorry, but I—,”_

_“Freshman year.” Marco cut in again. “You stopped those stargazing Friday nights we used to share. I pretended to be cool with it but really I wasn’t. I was upset. Maybe I’m being selfish, but I miss the time we used to spend together. I could feel you distancing yourself from me, and it hurt. I wondered if you…hated me.”_

_“I…I didn’t know you felt that way. Damn, I feel like an insensitive jerk now. I’m your best friend and I didn’t notice anything wrong for all these years.” Jean put his forehead in his hands. “I admit that—that these past few years I’ve been acting…differently. But I don’t hate you—I could never, never _hate you, do you understand that? You said to me once that I was you world. And Marco Bodt,_ you _are_ my _world.” Jean raised his head to look Marco with surprising directness; his light brown eyes were lit with a fierce intensity that amazed Marco. Jean’s reassuring words soothed Marco’s main concerns and delight welled up in his heart. Before Marco could stop himself, the words came pouring out of his mouth.__

_“Listen, Jean. I haven’t been honest with you.” Marco halted his words, a voice inside his head screaming at him to_ stop.

__

Don’t ruin what you have! Do you want Jean to hate you? You think he’d accept your feelings, even _respect_ them? He’d be disgusted. He’d never speak to you again. You’d lose him. Forever. 

__

_Marco only chuckled to himself now. That voice of doubt that questioned his every move only held him back, chained him and enslaved him. He would no longer heed his senseless doubts—he would instead listen to what he knew down to the marrow of his bones. And what he knew was that Jean would never be disgusted with him, Jean would never hate him._

__

_Before Marco could commence in his confession, Jean spoke up. “Me either.” He blurted out, glancing around in embarrassment. He pushed himself off the ground and started to swing back and forth, building up slight momentum as he continued, falling into the lulling rhythm of the swing. Marco smiled slyly and copied his friend. Jean smirked, increased his speed and launched himself off of the swing at the pinnacle moment. He landed with about as much grace as a drunkard, falling with a flat out face plant on the dirt ground. Marco couldn’t hold back his giggles as he joined Jean, landing neatly on his feet. Jean glared up at Marco, though his eyes were alight with amusement. Marco helped him up and assisted in brushing the dirt off of his friend. Jean shied away at his touch, though it was barely noticeable. Marco could hardly see in the dense darkness as it was._

__

_“Anyway…as I was saying, I have some things that I haven’t told you, things that I need to tell you. I avoided you because I was confused and scared out of my mind. I’m not confused anymore, but I’m still scared shitless. If I tell you what I need to say I’m just not sure how you’d react. I’m frightened that you won’t want to be around me anymore.” He thrummed his fingers against his thighs._

__

_Was this happening? Was Marco dreaming? Because it sure sounded like Jean was preparing to_ confess _to_ Marco. _His words sounded exactly like thoughts that had gone through Marco’s own head._

__

_“I think I understand.” Marco attempted to encourage him._

__

_“You_ understand _?” Jean demanded incredulously. “For years I’ve been completely out of my wits. I felt so alone. I tried to erase those feelings but only ended up screwing things up more. What I’ve done ended up hurting you more. And that frustrates me because I—shit this is stressing me out.” Jean’s breathing accelerated, and he looked on edge._

_“Jean, its fine. Calm down. Talk to me.” Marco spoke straightforwardly, trying to cap the young man's growing anxiety._

_“Calm down? If you knew what was going through my head, I assure you, you would not be calm. Y'know, I’m slightly freaking out right now ‘cause I love you Marco, and I don’t want to tell you because you’ll maybe think I’m a creep, and oh my God did I just.” Jean’s words were a whirlwind, sputtered out in great haste, and as he realized what he’d said his mouth hung open in a fathomless expression._

_“Jean—” Every concern Marco had, all the weight that held him vanished in that instant. Those were the words he had most wanted to hear and the words he’d least expected. It seemed just too perfect._

_“You know, I’ve really got to go.” Jean turned a wonderful shade of red. He stumbled backwards a few steps, waved briefly before tripping slightly and wheeling around to jog away._

_Marco followed quickly with a laugh that made Jean shoot a puzzled look over his shoulder, and his eyes widened as he noted Marco gaining on him. Soon they were both sprinting around the park, Marco chasing Jean relentlessly and calling out to him with a mischievous smirk plastered on his face. Jean darted on the road, heading for his car, but Marco grabbed his hand midway through the street. The pair halted. He could barely make out Jean’s sharp features for the lack of light._

_Marco was heaving in labored breaths while simultaneously grinning to the point of pain, manifesting the limitless joy he was experiencing. It was just so perfect. “Jean—I’m so happy, this—,”_

_The subsequent moments passed in a mindless blur for Marco. He acted instinctively without thought. One second he was bursting with delighted shock and the next he was shoving Jean forward with all his might. Not a second later his breath was wrenched out of him and he was blinking his eyes open to find himself laying on the smooth black surface of the road. He experienced a constricting feeling in the pit of his stomach and half-gasped, half-choked out as he attempted to draw in air. Everything around him was fuzzy and muffled. His head ached dully, he felt sluggish, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel much of anything. Marco vaguely heard Jean yelling about something and barely made out his figure crouching over him. Marco limply reached out to grasp the cloth of Jean’s shirt in his hand, bewildered at the sight of crimson liquid dripping down his arm. He just felt so incredibly tired. A light, floating sensation took hold as Marco’s world faded around him._

Marco found himself staring skyward, breathing in short, heaving breathes. Hours had passed, for night had evidently descended upon town. When he scrambled to his feet he immediately started sprinting back to Jean’s house. He darted clean through the front door and took the stairs two steps at a time and skidded to a halt as he entered Jean’s room. Empty. 

His mind racing, Marco jogged back down the stairs and delved deeper into the Kirchstein’s home and out the back door, leading to the extensive backyard. 

And there he was. Stretched out on his back, basking in the moonlight, lost among the stars. Marco picked his way through the grass and lowered himself over Jean, propping himself up on his forearms and knees. For a time he just stared at Jean’s face, admired those intense eyes. Impulsively Marco dipped his head and pressed a delicate, ghost of a kiss on Jean’s lips. It sent his heart fluttering and made him shake with excitement. Jean looked startled, and he sat up, glancing around a daze. Marco scrambled off of him, forgetting for a moment that Jean couldn’t see him. But it appeared as though Jean had felt...something. Was it a coincidence?

Marco sat back on his haunches and breathed an immense sigh. So. Their feelings for each other had been mutual all along. They had each privately struggled with their love for one another, masking it as best they could, yet for naught. Marco wanted to cry out in frustration. All the wasted years, all the pointless suffering! And it had all led to this: the moment that allowed them to finally be together was the moment they were permanently torn away from each other. 

“Marco?” A faint, familiar voice, a mere whisper that hung in the air like dense fog. It came from no particular direction, yet at the same time it came from all around Marco, unnerving him. He felt a tugging sensation on his body, as if his insides were being pulled loose. “Can you hear me?” This time the voice came louder, causing Marco to jolt in surprise. The light pulling he felt turned into painful wrenches, eliciting a gasp. 

“Please!” The voice was a thunderous, ear-splitting roar in Marco’s ears. He fell to his knees with a cry, clutching his head. “Come back!” It was everywhere. It reverberated all around him, pounded inside his skull relentlessly. 

“L—leave me…alone!” Marco’s voice was weak, coming out in pants now. The tugging sensation had evolved into a harsher, tormenting pain. “G—God!” Marco dug his fingernails into his palms, doubling over on the ground. _What’s going on?_

“You need to wake up.” It echoed, emerging from the sky, bubbling up from the ground, seeping out of the air itself. Marco’s vision began to blur, his hearing became muffled, as all his senses dulled. It began to register in his mind, what was happening.

“No. No no no no.” Marco’s voice was barely traceable to his own ears now. _I’m not ready to go! I can’t let this happen! There’s still no guarantee that I’ll wake up! If I go now I could die, or be stuck in a coma for the rest of my life! It doesn’t matter if I stay in this non-existent state forever, it’s better than being truly dead!_ “No!” 

Jean, blissfully unaware, was still sitting indifferent as ever as Marco writhed in the dirt. Yet as his senses further degraded, so the pain too became jaded. He became subdued, lying slack on the ground.

Marco couldn’t hear the lulling chirps of the songbirds, couldn’t smell the earthy soil, couldn’t feel the damp grass beneath him anymore. He saw Jean sitting in all of his nonchalance and sublimity, his face a blank, stone-faced mask. He missed the Jean who once was. He missed the Jean who had the most infectious of smiles, that honey smooth laugh, and of course that prideful, unbreakable aura. He missed Jean from their middle school days when the pair had been inseparable. How he _longed_ to return to those simple days—how had it come to this? Above all else, however, Marco wanted Jean to be happy once more. Marco desired to be there, to be the one to make Jean happy himself. Marco feebly reached out toward that lovely, unattainable figure. 

_I just want—you to smile again._

Finally, his vision too was lost. And he was left in a world of nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is a bit late (I was visiting my cousin in Colorado and couldn't find much time to write), though it is somewhat longer! Thank you for reading thus far!  
> TBC


	4. Trusting in Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >   
>  I can't see anything  
> In the dark but then  
> Your reflection brings all into light  
> 
> 
> Carolina Liar, When You Are Near 

Everything was a fog. He saw white, and it was as if a fine layer of mist capped his vision. His mind and body felt heavy, clouded. Slowly, things began to crawl into focus. It started with slight movement—he could twitch his fingers and toes, then his wrist and ankles, like he was thawing out limb by limb. He eventually recognized the softness of blankets draped around him and noticed a scent that he could only describe as crisp and pure. His sight grew sharper; he registered a window diversifying the rather plain white room in his peripheral vision. _I’m fine. I’m alive._

“Mr. Bodt, how are you feeling?” A soft, feminine voice from Marco’s left made him turn his head to get a better view. The door was closing behind a smiling nurse. He tried to reply, but his words came out as nonsensical mumbles. Marco was too groggy to be alarmed or put more effort into forming coherent thoughts and words. “Don’t strain yourself. You’ve been out for quite some time: a full month to be precise. You’ve been falling in and out of consciousness this whole day.” The nurse felt his pulse for a time, nodding to herself slightly. “We notified your family when you came to consciousness for the first time. They’ve been by your side this whole day; right now they are in the hospital’s cafeteria. They’ll be ecstatic to see that you are awake.” She laughed lightheartedly. Marco just nodded his head, letting his eyelids flutter closed. 

The next time he opened his eyes to the world he was staring up at three figures looming over him, all grinning.

“Marco!” His mother, father, and sister shouted in unison and proceeded to take turns embracing him gently.

“We missed you so much.” His mother sobbed, unable to keep tears of joy from flowing. Likewise, Annaliese was a mess, wailing on the floor and squeezing the life from her teddy bear. His father was a little more composed and patted his son’s shoulder reassuringly. “We love you, Marco.” 

“I—I love you guys too.” Marco rasped. “What exactly…happened to me?” His father squeezed Marco’s shoulder before speaking.

“While you and Jean were crossing the street at night there was an accident. It was a drunk driver—they didn’t have their lights on, couldn’t see a thing, and were speeding. Jean said that you pushed him out of the way just in time. Poor boy, said it should have been him lying in the hospital bed, not you. Anyway, you hit your head on the asphalt pretty hard, and you went into a coma.” 

“Where’s Jean now? C—can I see him?” Marco asked, trying to conceal how desperate he was. 

“Of course dear. We were already planning on calling him after school. He’ll be as relieved as we are when he hears you’ve come out of your coma.” His mother smiled, stroking his cheek. 

“Could I be the one to call him?” Marco requested.

“Go ahead.” His mother consented. Marco shifted in the bed, wincing. “Be careful.” His mother warned; Marco only rolled his eyes.

His family proceeded to tell him what all had transpired in the month he’d been out, Anna occasionally interjecting her own thoughts. His young sister made him promise her that he’d play hide-and-go-seek as soon as he was better. Throughout their conversation he managed to righten himself into a sitting position. When his family began talking of staying the night with him in the hospital Marco shook his head. 

“I’d like some time to myself to gather my thoughts.” Marco stated. His parents exchanged an uneasy glance. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere, I’m fine now.”

“I suppose we can’t baby you forever.” A flash of grief was visible in his mother’s eyes. She shook her head briefly. “We’ll be here first thing in the morning, you hear?” Marco groaned. 

“Bright and early.” His father smirked in agreement. They bid their goodbyes, yet his mother lingered at the door after the others had exited. 

“Maybe you could ask Jean to stay the night with you.” His mother winked knowingly, and with one final smug smile, retreated into the hallway, shutting the door behind her. 

Marco spent a good five minutes flushing crimson and wondering how much his mother knew about his feelings for Jean before he finally picked up his phone, which his parents had graciously left on the stand next to his bed. He fiddled with the gadget, the screen displaying Jean’s contact. After much deliberation, Marco finally gathered the courage to press call. He gingerly held the device to his ear, listening tentatively to each ring. 

“Hello?” Jean’s voice: rough yet sweet as honey to Marco’s ears. Marco sucked in a breath.

“Jean.” It came out as a whimper. There was a pause. 

“Oh my god.” Jean’s voice broke. “Holy shit…M—Marco, is—is it _really you_? Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Tell me this isn’t a dream.” 

“It’s not, Jean. I…woke up. I’m in the hospital still.” 

“Don’t move! I’m coming over there _right now!_ ” The enthusiasm in his voice was tangible. “This is the single greatest day of my life!” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Marco couldn’t hold back a giggle. He heard the slam of a car door and the ignition of an engine. 

“Don’t hang up either. I wanna hear your voice.” Jean ordered. “I’m freaking out right now Marco. I can’t stop smiling like an idiot.”

“Me too. I can’t wait to see you!” Marco thought of all the times he’d tried to comfort Jean in his ghost-like form. “Finally, I’ll be able to touch you!” As soon as the words were out Marco realized their implications. 

“Oh, so you wanna touch me?”Jean prompted suggestively. Marco rolled his eyes but surprisingly found himself playing along. 

“Yes.” Marco breathed into the phone, his voice lowering. “I want to touch you all over.”

“Marco, are you really dirty talking me?” Jean snickered. “I never imagined those words coming from an angel like you!” 

Their conversation continued with that suggestive undertone until Jean reached the hospital. Marco almost couldn’t believe the things coming out of his mouth, but then again why hold back when life was so unpredictable? 

“Uh, sorry, a nurse just asked me to get off the phone so I don’t disturb the patients and visitors. I’ll be at your room in a few minutes, I promise.” Jean sounded disappointed that he’d have to go even a second without Marco’s presence. 

“I’ll be waiting!” Marco declared cheerfully before hanging up. _I’m going to see Jean. I’m going to see Jean! And he’ll be able to see me this time too!_ He didn’t have to wait long, but every second felt like a lifetime as Marco fidgeted impatiently in his bed. 

Then he was there, leaning against the doorframe hesitantly. Each boy was motionless, staring at the other in a daze. Even though Jean was only feet away, the distance was still too much for him to bear. Marco slid off the bed, attempting to stand. His legs buckled underneath him as soon as he took his first wavering step, but Jean was there in a heartbeat, steadying him with a hug.

“It’s you, it’s you, it’s really you.” Jean murmured, tightening his grip on Marco as if confirming his existence. “I’m so sorry. That accident was entirely my fault.”

“Not so.” Marco shook his head, returning the embrace wholeheartedly. “If I would have told you my feelings in the first place none of this would have happened.” 

“What exactly _are_ your feelings?” Jean moved back slightly to allow their gazes to meet. 

“I’d thought I’d made that clear on the phone.” Marco said roguishly, daring to lean forward and nip Jean’s ear briefly. That was the moment Marco discovered a shade of crimson he never thought existed gracing Jean’s face. Assuming a more serious manner, Marco drew back to become mesmerized in those pale amber spheres once more. “I love you.” 

Jean seemed to unravel before him. He went slack-jawed, and his hold on Marco loosened. “I love you too.” Simultaneously, the two leaned forward, their lips locking together in their first real kiss with each other. And by no means was it chaste. It was naive, messy, uncoordinated, and desperate. Marco drew his tongue teasingly along Jean’s lower lip to which he gasped, his mouth parting just as Marco desired. He seized the opportunity to slip his tongue in, caressing the newfound moist warmth. His eyes closed, the world spun and swirled dizzyingly. 

By the time the pair pulled apart they were panting in an attempt to regain their breath. Marco felt firmer on his feet and could support himself, but Jean still had a hand resting on his waist. “I still can’t believe it. I’m worried that this is some cruel dream and that I’ll wake up any second.”

“Dummy.” Marco cupped Jean’s face, his friend leaning into the touch. “I’m the one who woke up from a dream.” He let a few moments pass, pondering on his days of non-existence: they did indeed now feel like a dream—fuzzy and difficult to recall. “This is the most authentic happiness I’ve felt in years. I’m sorry that I didn’t notice how you felt earlier. This entire mess could have been prevented if I wasn’t so clueless—,” Jean pressed a finger over Marco’s lips, shushing him. 

“Let’s not dwell on what once was and what could have been had we _both_ been a little wiser about this whole situation. What we’ve got is here and now. The only thing holding us back is that unfulfilled promise.” Marco immediately recognized the promise Jean was referring to; it was, undoubtedly, of the painting and poetry they had promised to exchange.

“Yeah. I think it’s quite time we each upheld our end of the bargain.” Marco sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a bit fatigued. Jean looked relieved, as if he’d suspected Marco had forgotten their promise. 

“My thoughts exactly.” Jean agreed. “Are you alright? Are you hungry?” The concern was plain in his voice.

“Quite a bit, actually.” On cue, his stomach rumbled unpleasantly, evoking a sheepish laugh on Marco’s part. Jean grinned and ruffled Marco’s hair affectionately. 

“Hold on, I’ll get a nurse.” Jean hurried out of the room on his mission. Upon his return, he did not disappoint, bearing a tray of food that looked surprisingly tasty for hospital food. After some pleading, Marco managed to convince Jean to feed him. 

When they finally settled down to sleep for the night, Marco in his not so comfortable bed, and Jean situated in the guest pull out couch to which he complained was equally disagreeable, his phone began to buzz nonstop. Initially, he supposed it was a phone call but when he snatched the device he was met with a flood of text messages. 

**Eren Jaeger:** Hey! Marco! Just heard the news! Good to have you back!

**Mikasa Ackerman:** Glad you’re ok. 

**Connie Springer:** Good morning, Sleeping Beauty! :P 

**Eren Jaeger:** Btw, Jean has to share. Don’t let him keep you all to himself!!

**Armin Arlert:** Everyone was a wreck without you here; it’s such a relief that you’ve come to! 

**Sasha Braus:** About time! I think this calls for a celebratory cake!...Oh! Just got the text from Eren—can’t wait for the party, I’ll definitely be there!!!!!

**Eren Jaeger:** It’s official! Hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of organizing a party to celebrate you’re Awakening. 

**Krista Lenz** So happy everything worked out! Let me know if you need anything! Ymir sends her love as well. We’ll be at the party for sure! 

“What’s up?” Jean sat up curiously. 

“Apparently the news of my awakening has spread.” Marco chuckled as he typed out a few responses. There was an extended silence before Jean spoke again.

“You know, while you were unconscious…sometimes I felt as if—as if you were there with me.” Jean’s voice was barely above a whisper. Marco’s head snapped up at those words.

_That’s because I_ was _there. Should I tell him…? It all sounds pretty insane._

“Hah…Nevermind, that’s just stupid.” Jean let out a short laugh before lowering himself back down on the couch. 

“I don’t think it’s stupid at all. If I could—if it was possible, I’d do everything I could to be with you, even if I was dead.” Marco gazed up at the ceiling. 

“From any other mouth that would sound like a cheesy pick-up line,” Jean snorted. “But somehow you make it sound believable.” 

“While we’re on the topic of pick-up lines…” Marco trailed off, gathering his courage. “Once I’m discharged, would you, Jean Kirschtein, do me the honor of watching the stars with me?” 

“Hell yes! I’d like nothing better than to star-gaze with my boyfriend like the old days.” 

_Boyfriend._ Marco’s heart fluttered wildly at the word. “Jeeeaaaan~.” Marco drew out his name with a slight whine. “Your poor, bedridden boyfriend wants a goodnight kiss.” 

Jean was on his feet without a second’s hesitation, leaning over Marco, their faces mere inches apart. “My Freckled Prince was calling?” 

_Freckled Prince?_ Marco giggled. “Dork.” He grasped the collar of Jean’s shirt to pull him closer. Their lips met, and Marco could feel the smile on Jean’s own, could practically taste the exuberance radiating from him.

Those pointless years of suffering were, at long last, over. Their lives, which had seemingly frozen as high school began, could now progress. Marco didn’t have to wistfully long for the past anymore, for the future held promises of even brighter days. 

All that mattered was that he was here with Jean.

Just him and Jean.

Just as it should it be.

_Let this utopian serenity never end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* The title was mentioned!  
> Well, I think we're looking at one or two more chapters for this fic! :')  
> As always, thanks for reading! :D  
> TBC


	5. The Flame From The Spark

Marco’s parents arrived unpleasantly early as promised the following morning. Six o’clock to be precise. Jean departed soon after their arrival, reluctantly admitting he had to go home to prepare for school. He had cast one last longing glance at Marco before leaving.

To his delight, Marco’s parents informed him that he was being discharged. He was offered a wheelchair but politely declined, itching to get up and walk again. However, by the time they exited the hospital, Marco was fatigued, his muscles not used to action after remaining dormant for nearly a month. His parents went ahead and brought the car around for him. As he hopped in the back he felt his phone vibrate. Pulling the device out of his pocket he opened the text. 

**The Bae:** Parting is such sweet sorrow, my Freckled Prince!

Marco had to suppress a chuckle before he typed his response: 

**You:** Calm down, Juliet. Did you change your name in my phone?! The Bae? Really, Jean, really? 

**The Bae:** I have nothing to say in my defense, only that I regret nothing. Also, guess what your name in my phone is? :p 

**You:** …I’ll take a wild guess and say ‘My Freckled Prince’ 

**The Bae:** Damn. You know me well. 

**You:** School starts soon. You’d better not be texting and driving!!

**The Bae:** I’m just getting in my car now, I swear! Since it pleases you so, I will not text and drive. I will make the sacrifice for you. Ttyl. 

“Well you’re awfully smiley back there, Marco. Who’re you talking to?” His father questioned, almost suspiciously. Marco glanced up to see that they had already parked in the driveway. 

“It’s Jean.” Marco replied shortly as he slid out of the car. The window to the car rolled down, and his father called out to him. “Anna stayed the night at a friend’s house, so we’re going to run some errands and pick her up. We figured you’d want to lie down and get some rest. Call us if anything happens, alright?” 

“I’ll be fine.” He mumbled before waving and hurrying inside. It was soothing to be back home; perhaps most favorable of all he’d have his own bed again. Not to mention he could eat and sleep once more. Not being able to eat in his previous ghost-like form was quite upsetting: food was one of life’s greatest pleasures after all. Marco snatched a pear from the fruit bowl before heading upstairs. He rummaged around his room, snagging a pen off his dresser and grabbing his writing journal from the bookshelf. Sitting with his back resting on the headboard of his bed, Marco opened the journal. He had a poem to write. 

It’s not easy expressing your feelings with mere words. Words themselves are limited in their capabilities; they can only describe so much before the boundary is reached. Emotions, after all, are meant to be _felt_ , not written. Yet there are times when humans wish to convey their sentiments to another. They will never fully be able to explain their feelings; they’ll only ever just scratch the surface, get across the bare minimum to be understood. But even if only a fraction of their feelings can be emphasized with it’s _worth_ it. Because in that moment of vague understanding, when a person has made someone feel what they are experiencing, they are not alone. 

So Marco would pour all his effort forth into conveying what Jean meant to him. Perhaps, out of all emotions, genuine love was the most difficult to express. How does one even begin to describe the endless waves of affection, the unwavering desire, the infinite happiness that a partner brings? Marco supposed he’d just have to give it his best shot. He was sure that whatever he said, Jean would understand. When you’d been best friends for as long as they had a sort of rhythm developed between them, a synchronization. 

Marco put on his headphones; listening to music both inspired him and aided him in concentrating. The pencil met paper, and he began to write, all his thoughts seeping onto the page. He was writing for a good five minutes before his refined focus was shattered as his phone vibrated in his pocket. With a sigh he plucked it out and checked the screen. 

**The Bae:** marcoooooo! I’m not driving anymore

**You:** Yes, but you are in class. Don’t get your phone taken up, and try to pay attention!!

**The Bae:** it’s ok cause im multitasking. We have a sub in this class anyway.

**You:** If you say so!

They continued to text on and off throughout the day, despite Marco’s concern for Jean’s education. It took him a good chunk of time to complete a rough draft of the poem, and by then he could hear the front door opening and the muffled voices of his family. 

He closed his journal just as his door swung open to reveal Annaliese bearing a bowl of beef stew. She moved forward carefully, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she tried her best not to spill the stew. “Momma and Daddy told me I could bring you up some lunch.” She said, handing him the bowl. 

“Thanks Anna. You’re so sweet!” He patted his sister’s head, and she puffed out her chest with pride. She clambered on the bed and sat herself on its edge, her feet dangling off. 

“You were asleep _forever_.” Annaliese pouted. “Daddy said you might never wake up. That made me sad.” She swung her feet back and forth. “Did you dream?” 

Marco paused for a moment. “I suppose I did, in a way.” He murmured softly.

“Was I in it?” Anna asked eagerly, twisting around to give Marco her full attention. He gave a half smile, his heart aching as he recalled Anna crying in his room.

“Yes you were. And Mom and Dad. Jean too—you remember my friend Jean, right?” 

“Oh, that boy you have a crush on?” His sister’s eyes widened. Marco stared at her in surprise. 

“W—Well, I…How exactly did you—,” Marco searched for the right words to say in this situation. First his mother, now Anna! Did everyone in this family know his feelings? 

“Anna! Come help me make cookies! I’ll let you test out the dough!” Their mother’s voice carried from downstairs. Anna groaned dramatically and hopped off the bed before plodding out of his room. 

After taking a much needed shower, Marco joined his family downstairs just as the cookies were pulled out of the oven. The heavenly aroma the baked goods emitted made Marco’s mouth water. When Anna noticed Marco’s hungry gaze she moved in front of the pan protectively, her arms crossed.

“Hold it. If you want any of these cookies you have to make a deal with me.” She looked up at Marco with such intensity that he had to suppress bursting out into laughter. 

“Certainly. Anything, Miss Anna.” Marco nodded seriously. She informed her brother that if he hoped to enjoy any of the chocolate chip cookies she had made that he would have to watch Frozen with her. That actually made Marco want to give up on cookies altogether—he’d seen Frozen about ten times too many. His sister watched it about once a day, and at some point a line needed to be drawn. Nevertheless, he exhaled in exasperation and reluctantly agreed, knowing how much his sister wanted to spend time with him.

The movie was awful. It still left him that same vague anger at Hans, despite the insane number of times he’d seen the thing. The cookies, however, were delicious. His phone sang out a single chime, and Marco glanced down at the device in his lap.

**The Bae:** Hey im comin over now. I’ve got all the school work you’ve missed over this past month and I tell you it’s a truly horrifying sight to behold. 

**You:** Hmm…I don’t think I’ll mind all the work if you’re willing to tutor me that is. ;) 

**The Bae:** Aha, I’ll teach you everything I know. B) Alright im about to drive so I’ll see ya soon!

Three o’clock already, Marco noted when he cast a glance at the kitchen clock. School was over. Speaking of school…

“Anna, why weren’t you at school today?” Marco prompted, raising an eyebrow. She looked down at her feet sheepishly. 

“It was your first day back, so I wanted to be here. I had to cry to convince Momma to let me stay.” Annaliese pursed her lips.

“I’m powerless when it comes to Anna in tears.” His mother conceded, walking over to the two. She turned to look at her daughter. “It’s time for your afternoon nap little one.” Anna glowered before relenting and allowing their mother to walk her upstairs. 

Minutes later, the doorbell was ringing. Marco got to his feet and rushed to the door with more eagerness than he was ready to admit. He opened the door to reveal none other than Jean. He didn’t realize he was simply standing there staring until Jean rolled his eyes impatiently. 

“You gonna gawk all day? Don’t get me wrong: I appreciate your admiration for my face, but I’d like to set down this shitload of papers.” Jean said teasingly, making a point to lift the monstrous stack of papers a bit higher. Jean hadn’t been exaggerating—it was very much a terror invoking sight.

“Come on in, _bae_.” Marco stepped aside and extended a hand, beckoning Jean inside. Jean snorted in amusement as he stepped in, briefly offering greetings to Marco’s parents before following Marco upstairs. He set the load of papers down and flopped on the bed with a grunt. 

“Everyone at school was bothering me, asking how you were.” Jean mumbled into the sheets. “When are you coming back to school?” 

“Maybe in a few days? Going to school isn’t exactly a strenuous activity; we’re just basically sitting down all day so I think it should be okay for me to go pretty soon.” Marco replied, moving to sit on the other side of the bed. Jean muttered an acknowledgement. 

Their phones buzzed simultaneously and Marco lifted his device up to read the text. It had been sent to their whole group of friends.

**Eren Jaeger:** Alright guys the party is at my place next Friday after school. Be there or I will personally come find you and drag you there.

“Dammit Jaeger! What is he thinking making a group text this big? I want no part in this!” Jean growled as he glanced at his phone over the sheets. Marco found it quite cute, the way Jean was sprawled out, lying on his stomach with the covers drawn close. 

The group text did indeed evolve into a massive train wreck; their phones were vibrating nearly nonstop. Jean tried in vain to get Eren to take him out of the group to no avail. Despite several threats on his life, Eren took it in stride and Marco had to give him credit for his capabilities of pissing Jean off and vice versa.

“Hey. How about we hang out after the party Friday and do our little exchange?” Marco suggested while Jean was still fuming and vigorously texting insults to Eren. When Marco spoke, however, his attention was immediately fixed on him. 

“Sounds good to me.” Jean’s vexed frown vanished, and he smiled softly now. “You know, neither of us formally asked the other out.” Jean sat up and scooted next to Marco, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. His blush was painfully evident. 

“Well then, Jean, would you be willing to be my boyfriend?” Marco chuckled. “I only wish I could do this in a more elegant way and give you flowers or something.” 

“Who needs elegance?” Jean demanded before adding, “And of course I will. You didn’t have to actually ask me, I just wanted to confirm we were on the same wavelength here. I guess I got my answer.” Jean grinned, looking stupidly pleased.

_So cute._ Marco couldn’t help but think; unable to resist, he leaned over to give Jean a kiss, relishing his look of surprise. Unlike the first time it was simple and sweet, lacking the desperation from before. Marco marveled for a moment, amazed at what he once felt as a mere hopeless crush that had since developed into an insatiable passion. 

“Y’know how people experience a moment that’s just so perfect they say they’d be content to die in that moment? Well, I kinda feel like that now.” Jean murmured after they parted. 

“Hm. I wouldn’t like that very much.” Marco shook his head. “There’s still so much I want to do with you. We haven’t even been on our first date!” Jean hummed in agreement. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” He assented, growing thoughtful. “While we’re on the morbid topic, if you could choose, how would you want to die?” 

“Not alone.” Marco spoke immediately. “The manner of my death doesn’t really bother me as long as the people I care about are there with me.” 

“Then I’ll make sure to be there if it happens.” Jean promised. 

“ _If_ it happens? I’m not an immortal vampire if that's what you were hoping for, Jean.” Marco giggled. Jean shook his head stubbornly. 

“Let’s not worry about that stuff right now.” He smirked before dragging Marco into another kiss. Marco had no complaints.

They were really together. Jean was actually his boyfriend. Marco was mesmerized by those thoughts. _And all it took was me being hit by a car and going into a coma for it to happen,_ he mused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I’m not an expert in coma recovery, but I know the severity of consequences vary. Marco was only in a coma for a month, not long enough for extreme muscle atrophy to take its toll so I expect he’d be able to engage in physical activities rather quickly. Anyway, I hope I at least somewhat accurately portrayed Marco’s condition. Please forgive any inaccuracy! 
> 
> Next time: Party at Eren's!  
> TBC


	6. Of Poetry and Painting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > So open your eyes and see  
> The way our horizons meet  
> And all of the lights will lead  
> Into the night with me  
> And I know these scars will bleed  
> But both of our hearts believe  
> All of these stars will guide us home
>>
>>>   
>  Ed Sheeran, All Of The Stars   
> 

The subsequent week was quite literally Hell. Between attending class and laboring nonstop to catch up on all his missed work, Marco was exhausted. Luckily, Jean was there supporting him the whole way, making the ordeal just bearable.

Thursday night Jean and Marco decided to celebrate Marco completing the majority of his late work with their first date. They ate at a small café before strolling aimlessly through the streets talking about whatever came to mind. When they sat down at a bench, Marco noticed a serious change in Jean’s mood: he was frowning now, a vast contrast to how he hadn’t stop smiling for nearly the entire night, and there it was—his fingers were steadily thrumming against his thighs in that nervous manner of his.

“What’s wrong?” Marco questioned with concern, getting straight to the point. 

“It’s just…hard to believe you were ever gone.” Jean leaned his head against Marco’s shoulder with a soft sigh. Marco held his tongue, sensing that Jean was searching for words to continue. “I didn’t think you’d wake up. I thought you were going to die.” His voice cracked slightly, and Jean paused to regain his composure. Marco slipped his hand in Jean’s comfortingly. “I wasn’t myself at all. I felt so guilty about the accident and so regretful. Then I—I did something really stupid cause I’m a coward.” 

Marco didn’t have to be told to know what Jean was referring to: the incident in the car. “Jean, if I know anything, it’s that you are most certainly _not_ a coward. You’d be the first one to defend a friend and the last one to abandon someone you care about. Everyone has moments of weakness, but they don’t define you—they don’t make you a coward.” 

“You always know what to say.” Jean nudged Marco’s shoulder gently. In response, Marco turned his head to brush a kiss against his boyfriend’s head.

_If only that were true. Maybe then I could have prevented your sorrow in the first place_ "I'm only stating the truth." He shrugged. 

After that, Marco insisted on taking Jean to get ice cream to improve his mood, and childish as the whole notion was, it worked. They hung out back at Jean's place before Marco's mother texted, asking him to come home so he could get a decent amount of sleep before school the next day. They bid farewell with a hug and quick kiss. For the rest of the night, Marco radiated with happiness. 

###### 

Friday came like the light at the end of the tunnel. From the moment he woke up, the whole day just felt _right_. He was never a morning person, but when Marco awoke that day he was refreshed. School was fairly tolerable. By now, their circle of friends had pieced together that Jean and Marco were dating. Accordingly, their relationship was the topic of conversation for the past few days. Ymir had remarked that it was _about damn time_ to which Reiner muttered an agreement. To Marco’s relief everyone accepted their relationship wholeheartedly.

After school, Marco framed and wrapped the finalized version of the poem. Just as Marco had finished, Jean texted, informing him that he was here. Marco grabbed his jacket and the gift before descending the staircase, shouting a quick goodbye to his mom before leaving. 

He hopped in the passenger side door, greeting Jean with a brief kiss and setting the gift in the back. Jean eyed it closely. “I can’t wait for this party to be over already.” He smirked.

“Come on, it won’t be so bad.” Marco said encouragingly. 

Marco had never been so wrong. As soon as he and Jean set foot inside Eren’s home, they were welcomed to the sight of Connie standing bare, save for a pair of banana print boxers, while Sasha chucked potato chips at him. Meanwhile, Bertholdt was blushing on the couch as Reiner, looking rather inebriated, declared his undying love, crouching on one knee. Ymir sat with her arm around Krista, unfazed, staring at the TV. Eren walked in the living room and stopped dead before emitting a battle cry and charging across the room, leaping on the couch and tackling Connie off the table. Armin entered now, looking white faced and exhausted.

“Marco.” Jean said calmly. “Are we really friends with these people?” 

“Yo! The lovebirds are here!” Sasha shouted; everyone proceeded to turn to the doorway where Marco and Jean hesitated to enter. 

“Did we miss something?” Jean asked dryly. “Is everyone on drugs or what?” 

“You missed the greatest game of strip poker and truth or dare.” Connie burst out laughing, Sasha and Eren joining in. “Don’t look so horrified, we only went down to our underwear as the limit.” He added.

“Truth or dare? What are you, a bunch of pre-teen girls?” Jean rolled his eyes. “I have so many questions right now I just don’t even know where to begin.” 

“Aren’t your parents slightly concerned about any of this?” Marco directed the question at Eren. He waved his hand dismissively. 

“They’re out of town.” Eren grinned mischievously. Jean and Marco finally decided to enter the house, shutting the door behind them. 

“Still, I’m surprised Mikasa hasn’t beaten you into the ground for this madness that’s ensuing.” Jean remarked. 

“Her and Annie couldn’t handle the awesomeness that is this party so they went to go see a movie.” Eren shrugged. Marco didn’t blame the two at all. “Jeez, I’m _starving_ ; let’s order pizza!” Connie and Sasha voiced their agreements. 

Once the pizza was ordered, Connie and Sasha started a pillow fight, soon dragging Eren and Reiner into it. And it was no gentle, happy-go-lucky ordeal. The _smack_ of pillows against flesh was cringe worthy—clearly they weren’t pulling their punches. Jean, Marco, Krista, Armin, and Bertholdt decided they wanted no part in that and chose to sit at the couch and watch the television. At one point, a stray pillow flew clear across the room and hit the back of Ymir’s head as she sat on the couch. Slowly, she stood to her feet, clutching the pillow in hand. She marched straight over to the group of pillow fighters, who stood frozen in terror. And if Marco thought it was merciless before, he was sorely mistaken. Ymir had them all on the ground within seconds and was giving each in turn a solid beating with the pillow as they screeched in protest. Ymir agreed to let up if they would stop their nonsense, to which they swiftly consented. 

After that, the pizza arrived, Eren, appearing slightly dejected, put on a horror movie. These types of movies had never particularly bothered or frightened Marco, but it was amusing how Jean flinched, leaning closer into Marco throughout the movie. When the antagonist jumped out from nowhere, just when the leading character thought she had escaped, Jean jolted and let out a yelp. It was drowned out by the protagonist getting hacked to pieces and Eren screaming. 

The rest of the night went pretty calmly until, after several rounds of Cards Against Humanity, Connie declared he wanted another round of strip poker to regain his honor. Everyone seemed in hearty agreement, and that was Marco and Jean’s cue to leave. A couple of taunts were addressed to them as they bid their goodbyes.

“I’ll bet they’re going to strip somewhere more private.” Reiner remarked loudly, resulting in a couple of snickers as the pair left.

When they got in the car Jean groaned. “’It won’t be so bad’, huh?” He paused. “Well, you were right. It was kinda fun hanging out with everyone.” Jean admitted, starting the car up.

“It was.” Marco concurred with a smile. “What are we going to do now?” 

“Let’s go to my house.” Jean replied. "It's about time for that exchange, don't you think?" 

###### 

Jean’s house was absolutely silent, not that Marco had expected anything else; Jean’s parent’s were rarely home. It was a bit unnerving, and suddenly Marco was overwhelmed with thoughts of how many nights Jean had sat in the huge, empty, lonely house. Jean tugged Marco’s hand, indicating for him to follow. He allowed himself to be led through the house, clutching his gift in his other hand. Jean opened the sliding glass door and guided Marco out into the backyard. They made their way to the gently sloping hill before lowering themselves down thigh to thigh on the grass and exchanging gifts. 

“Open mine first?” Jean requested with a little smile. Marco nodded, pulling the painting from the gift bag. Jean shined his phone’s flashlight over it for better visibility. Marco had seen the painting before of course, but it did not stop the fact that it took his breath away. There they were as kids, lying on that same hilltop, staring upwards. It was a precious memento of the past that somehow also managed to reflect the future. 

“It’s beautiful.” Marco breathed, then added with a chuckle, “And so nostalgic! Remember when we said we wanted to become astronauts…? Gosh, the detail is amazing.” Marco peered at it closer, amazed. 

“I was afraid you wouldn’t like it.” Jean stated, his eyes bound to the sky. Marco looked at him questioningly. “Considering how I was the one who said I didn’t have time for those nights. For you.” 

“Jean, I love the painting! Didn’t we decide not to dwell on our past regrets? Besides, you had your reasons, and that’s good enough for me. You know I hold nothing against you, as I hope you do the same for me.” Marco affectionately bumped Jean’s shoulder lightly with his own. 

“I would do the same.” He agreed. 

“Alright then, open mine now!” The suspense was killing him, and he was suspended between a state of excitement and nervousness as Jean peeled away the wrapping of the framed poem.

“It was your—,” Jean began to read aloud but Marco quickly cut him off. 

“P—please don’t read it out loud!” He said, flustered, a blush burning on his face. Jean smiled reassuringly, patting his knee before turning back to silently read the poem. Marco leaned closer to gaze over Jean’s shoulder and read along with him. 

_It was your sublime smile, your compelling charisma_

_That captured me._

_It was the way your amber eyes caught fire in the sunlight, an enigma_

_That ensnared me._

_It was your voice, a harmony, your laugh, a symphony_

_That allowed me to see;_

_My love for you was reality._

-

_If only I could find the words to convey_

_How you are my muse, my light of day._

_I’ve seen a thousand stars shining, bearing all the brilliance of the heavens,_

_Yet your luminosity outshines them all, an ethereal presence._

-

_Even in death, my spirit would stay;_

_For you, I’d find a way._

_Infinitely, I’d seek you;_

_Eternally, I’d love you._

_Let’s forget about the ‘then’,_

_So we can share the stars once again._

“Marco.” Jean gazed over at him in wonder. 

“Thank you for not laughing.” Marco said, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. 

“These are your feelings Marco, and I’d never laugh at them.” Jean responded seriously. “It’s just hard to believe this is about me—I don’t feel deserving of such feelings.” It was Jean’s turn to blush now.

Marco leaned over to kiss his boyfriend lengthily. Jean lowered himself from a sitting position to lay on his back; Marco hovered over him to continue. His tongue nudged Jean’s lower lip, requesting entrance. Jean complied; their tongues met hesitantly before the pair lost their bashfulness, and they took turns exploring the topography of each other’s mouths. 

Marco flopped down on his back next to Jean, panting and gazing up at the expanse of the sky, searching for familiar constellations among those sparkling lights. “So, what now?” Marco asked, turning his head to look at Jean. Jean too turned his face to meet Marco’s gaze. A smirk appeared on his face, and he took Marco’s hand in his. 

“Let’s share the stars.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy, happy endings give me life.  
> Thank you all so much for reading this fic, I hope you enjoyed it! :D  
> I might do a continuation from Jean's POV (with a higher rating ;)), but idk, we'll see!  
> I also have a tumblr if anyone is interested: grimmjoy-jackpancakes.tumblr.com


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